12
Everyone ready? I’m going to start the tour in the master bathroom,” I tell my family as I hold my phone upright.
I see their excited faces as they crowd around the kitchen island looking at Juliet’s screen.
Manny makes a sound like a slow drumroll, and then I click the camera icon on my FaceTime app.
There’s a collective gasp over my speaker.
“Oh my goodness, is that marble?” Mom says.
“Of course it’s marble,” Juliet confirms. “I bet the toilet has a trust fund.”
I laugh, but honestly? She’s not wrong. I lower my camera to the toilet paper roll hanging from a golden rod.
“Look at this!” I show them the thick four-ply roll.
Last week I was thrilled about a BOGO sale at Dollar General.
Today, I’m pretty sure this villa’s toilet paper costs more than my monthly grocery bill.
My family oohs and aahs while I walk them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. When I called them, they were sitting around the table, finishing their Noche Buena dinner. They all insisted on a tour of the fancy tropic island villa.
Manny whistles. “Whoa, this looks like one of those places rich people hide so they avoid taxes.”
“It’s so chic and minimalist,” Wit Wit says breathlessly. “Like an interior designer’s feed.”
“Yeah, it’s stunning,” I admit, sweeping the camera across the clean lines and soft coastal neutrals of the room. “And wait until you see the terrace.” I push open the sliding door to reveal a glittering turquoise ocean and the freestanding stone tub facing it.
Juliet shrieks instantly. “OH MY GOSH, TAKE ME THERE. Take me there now.”
“Next Christmas, I got you,” I tell her. “Now the part Wit Wit’s going to scream about.”
I turn back into the room and open a door.
“That’s… a closet?” Mom asks, squinting.
“No”—Wit Wit grabs the phone from her and I’m met with her wide-open eyeball as she stares into the camera—“that’s a religious experience.”
I giggle, washed in the warmth of her approval, as I step inside the enormous walk-in, angling the camera toward the shelves where a neat line of Louis Vuitton bags waits like they’re posing for a photo shoot.
Wit Wit full-on squeals.
I grab a gorgeous embroidered white linen dress and press it to my chest. “Look at this.”
I don’t even have to try it on—I just know it was tailored exactly to my size.
Mom sighs dreamily. “You look so happy, sweetheart.”
“I am,” I admit. And I’m so thrilled to see their happy faces, too. Making them proud is the best Christmas present.
“Okay, open the drawers,” my cousin orders before I can get too sappy. “You’re not wearing the dress to the beach. Let me see those swimsuits!”
“Um…” I hesitate, pulling open a cedar drawer. A few wisps of lace greet me and my audience.
“Nope. I do not need that image in my head. No thank you.” My brother covers his eyes.
“Those aren’t swimsuits!” my cousin screams.
I slam the drawer shut. “Okay, tour’s over!”
But they’re all laughing, cheering, teasing, and honestly? I can’t stop smiling.
Juliet practically elbows her way to the front of the screen. “Speaking of Mr. Finance Bro, where is he? I want to see Mr. Crazy Rich Filipino myself.”
“He’s finishing up the last of his work emails so we can relax the rest of the day,” I say, adjusting the camera. “I’m sure he’ll pop in soon.”
Mom beams. “Such a responsible young man. Organized. Calm. Stable.”
They’re totally into him. I love this for me.
“He’s treating you like you deserve,” Wit Wit declares.
Manny snorts. “Yeah, not like that rock star wannabe.”
“Oof,” Juliet says, “RIP to that guy.”
My sister leans toward the camera, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So. Speaking of stability…”
“When are you getting engaged?” Juliet blurts.
I roll my eyes. “Oh my gosh, here we go.”
Mom beams and she clasps her hands. “Well, anak, you look so happy, and things seem to be going so well…”
“And this villa has ‘proposal setting’ written all over it,” Wit Wit adds.
“I hate all of you,” I joke.
“You love us,” my cousin replies. “And we love that you finally found someone who treats you like the queen you are.”
Their voices overlap—happy, teasing, hopeful—and for a moment, I just stare at them on the screen.
This is my loud, chaotic, well-meaning but meddling family, and they’re not just happy for my vacation.
They’re genuinely happy for me. My voice chokes up and I know it’s time to go before I melt into a puddle of tears.
“I miss you all,” I say, and after another minute of promising to bring them back Kardashian-level luxury gifts, I finally hang up.
I exhale, setting the phone down and pulling open more drawers, looking for my bikinis.
I know I’m supposed to be getting ready for the beach, but why does it feel like I’m getting ready for the rest of my life?
Wit Wit’s not wrong: This whole villa screams engagement-core.
I shake my head, forcing myself to not panic and get back on track.
It takes a few drawers and scouting through a wardrobe that costs more than a year of rent before I unbury two swatches of fabric that must be my “swimsuit.” Because nothing says Christmas like a tiny black thong bikini with gold reptile-skin trim.
I slip the suit on and run my hands over the soft and supple material—if I were a baby seal this is how I’d imagine my skin feeling. I twist in the closet’s floor-length mirror and purr.
I look like a million, no—I recall one of Flynn’s major trade deals—a billion bucks.
“Eleven outta ten, babe.” Flynn announces. I turn and find him filling the closet’s doorway.
My heart races at the sight of him leaning all tall and muscular against the doorframe. Honestly, his chest should get its own zip code. It’s almost unfair how breathtakingly handsome he is—basically a dark-haired Filipino Hemsworth brother, but with a corporate glow-up.
The heat in his gaze is practically flammable.
“You ready to get wet?” he asks. The low growl and hunger in his eyes make me tingle with need as I picture the two of us all sweaty and tangled on the closet floor.
I giggle as he crosses to sweep me up in his arms and over his shoulder. “Put me down,” I joke as he carries me into the bedroom.
He lowers me to a seated position on the bed, his face eye level with mine. The warmth radiating from his body draws me in like a magnet ready to press against him. “Maybe the beach can wait,” he drawls.
My breath hitches as he leans forward, his hands gently cupping the back of my head and wrapping through my hair.
I gasp with pleasure as our lips press. His kiss goes from zero to a hundred in seconds, just like how he drives his luxury sports cars.
My body tingles at his touch. His arms wrap around my waist. He feels the same, tastes the same as he did the last time I was with him.
I wrap my hands around his strong neck, and I kiss him back, scooting farther onto the bed.
His eyes darken and rove over my body. “You are simply irresistible, love. Do you know that?”
He exhales and leans over me. The evidence of how much he wants me is clearly displayed in his swim trunks. After another deep kiss, he pulls back, voice ragged. “If we start, we won’t stop, and I have plans for today, including a nice surprise I think you’ll love.”
A surprise? My breath catches and now my heart is racing for an entirely different reason. Is it the surprise my family was suggesting? I swallow. Is he going to propose?
“I can’t wait,” I say with a rush of breath.
“Good.” Flynn stands and helps me to my feet. “Come on, love, you deserve some pampering. And there will be plenty of time for… this… later.” He tugs at my bikini bottom, and my mouth goes dry thinking about that promise.
I follow him out of the room, but not before he puts on some track pants and a shirt and I grab a cover-up.
Outside, there’s a motorcycle parked by our villa. Flynn hops on and starts the engine.
I tentatively approach, old familiar flutters fill my stomach. I forgot about this part of Flynn. He loves a little danger on his trips.
“I got you a helmet,” he says, tossing one to me. “I remember what you said last time.”
“Thanks,” I say. I have zero memory of this last time that he’s talking about, but I do remember all the other zip lines and cliff jumps I’ve sweated through with this man.
At least he’s attempting to learn about safety—even if he doesn’t have a helmet for himself.
I stuff the dark fiberglass helmet down over my head.
The world goes soft and pleasantly muffled, and I can hardly hear the engine when he kicks the bike to life.
I have to admit, it’s thrilling to whip down an empty road, past other villas hidden behind fences and palm trees, some of which have elaborate Christmas decorations up—like they’ve paid a Disney engineer to come out and design for them—and past breathtaking views of the sea, on our way to the resort’s private beach.
When we arrive, the sight of uninterrupted blue where the sky and sea blur into one takes my breath away.
The beach is perfect, the thick white sand warm under my feet as we make our way to a cabana just steps from the sea.
There are only a handful of other cabanas spread out equally distanced from each other—giving each a certain amount of privacy.
I have never had this much of the beach to myself and I love it.
I squeeze a little fist pump behind Flynn’s back once I step through the billowing sheer curtains and spot a bucket of chilled champagne and an elegant brunch spread adorning a blue ceramic tiled table.
And if that wasn’t amazing enough, a fig tree decorated with Christmas ornaments perched behind the table makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
It’s not a traditional tree by any stretch, but it’s a nice touch to recognize the holiday.
Flynn turns. “Do you like?” The way he’s looking at me with eyes gone dark and intense, I don’t think he’s just talking about our cabana.
“Yes,” I say, voice breathy.
He smiles, then dips his head and gives me a long, lingering kiss. But I am too distracted by the brunch to let him sweep me away with his kisses again.
After gorging on a fantastic breakfast, complete with a caviar spoon flight, we spend the morning swimming, dozing, making out, then dozing again.
It’s amazing how quickly all the easy, fun parts of our relationship come flooding back—how he makes me laugh with his goofy jokes, how head-turningly handsome he is, and how he always knows how to pamper me.
He gives me a foot rub that is borderline orgasmic.
As we lie on our cabana bed, me reading the latest Yuletide Court novel and him flipping through his emails, I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here.
Flynn chuckles and shows me an image on his phone. “Look who’s in Vogue Hong Kong.”
I take his phone in my hands and squint. Holy shit. It’s me. Wearing a stunning citron-yellow gown at a fancy reception, there’s a caption under the photo that says Baccay Charity Gala dazzles. I skim the article, which talks about how the Baccay Charity Gala was the event of the season.
“You made this gala a huge success without a hitch,” he says, taking the phone back. “I meant to tell you, my mother especially appreciates what you did. My entire family was so happy—you’re truly my lucky charm that I never want to lose again.”
My body hums with excitement. “Thank you,” I gush. “It feels great helping the speech therapy community.”
He nods with approval. “You’re making a huge difference, love. And, see, you didn’t have to become a licensed therapist to do it.”
He goes back to skimming his feed.
I take a deep breath. Then swallow the question that’s automatically on my lips. I didn’t end up getting my speech therapy license? I took a break from grad school to work with his family, but I always thought that would be temporary.
But I think about the gala, the amount of money the article said I raised. Maybe Flynn’s right. I do feel great about helping others through charity work. And isn’t that what I wanted to do ultimately? Help others? Still, I chew my lip, not liking the uncertainty niggling at the back of my mind.
As if he hears my thoughts, Flynn sets down his phone and rolls to face me, a wicked glint in his eye. “Okay, time to get out of that pretty head of yours. Ready for that surprise I mentioned?”
My fears are replaced by nerves. Is he going to ask me to marry him?
“Well?” Flynn prompts when I don’t answer. “Are you game?”
Are you game? doesn’t sound like a proposal. What does he mean by that? “Wait.” I sit up. “Are we doing something dangerous?”
“Not really.” His eyes burn holes in mine. “But I am thinking of ways to make you scream.” His tongue flicks over his full lips.
My body immediately responds. The heat between my legs rises as I think of our hot and heavy make-out session in the room. I suddenly want nothing more than to pick up where we left off. “Let’s do it.”
He offers me his hand and leads me out of the cabana. I have no idea what he has planned, but for once I’m ready for adventure.